Stowaway
by Quietly Making Noise
Summary: A boy stows away to escape the misery of his home life, only to find he has made a terrible, terrible mistake... (Oneshot, not a feel-good story.)


**STOWAWAY   
**_by Quietly Making Noise_

The ship rocked gently in the swell of the port. Her anchor lowered into the clear water, she sat waiting for her masters to return in their drunken stupors. As it had been for about three months, the sky was cloudless, as dark as the sea and scattered with a bright handful of stars. The moon glared down; the bay was lit by eerie silver light.

The ship is not quite alone. Creeping along the length of the quay, a boy. His feet are bare, as befits a midshipman, although this young man is not quite a cabin boy yet. All that he needs is a gangplank and a quiet moment, then he will stow away and hide. He wants only to be taken far away from where his mother will cry over his skinny shoulder, and his drunken father will beat the living hell from his backside.

Eventually, he finds it. Quick and silent as a rat, he scampers up the plank and drops onto the deck. Timbers creak below decks, but the ship is deserted. To be sure, he runs the deck from bows to stern, either side, his ears trained for sound. Nothing.

He moves to the staircase and slips down into the dark. Moonlight streams through the windows, throwing vague shadows over the wood. He steals an apple and munches on it, spitting out a maggot. Even the food is better here.

The gun deck is deserted, as is the hold. Thus satisfied, he climbs back out on deck; finds a coil of rope to curl up in. He sleeps light - tomorrow at first light he will stowaway.

 He is awoken by the sound and smell of wind - stinking and warm from inland. The folded sails stir longingly. He makes sure the deck is still empty, then climbs out from the rope. His muscles complain at the stretching, having been curled in a "babe's ball" position all night. Apple slithers are stuck in his crooked teeth, and he sucks at one thoughtfully. _Somewhere to hide..._

Eventually he decides to sit in the bowsprit. No sailor would be slim enough to crouch there, and anyway, they only come up here to watch the horizon. He has watched the ships since he could walk, running errands for Captains and occasionally working as a lackey. He knows about ships.

He climbs down into the wooden cradle and waits while the sun climbs into the sky, changing the colour from deepest blue to a lighter pale shade. Men's voices, gruffened by the sea air, shout to one another, and the ship creaks as the sailors come on board. A thrill of excitement sweeps through the boy's bones. He's not been discovered. As soon as they get out on the open sea, he will be completely safe. Only pirates would throw a stowaway overboard.

A voice which is clearer than most, slightly slurred through alcohol, rings out, shouting orders. The sailors get to work, and the boy is puzzled for a moment. Surely, a Navy officer would not be at his work with alcohol in his brains? Then, he reasons, it must be a merchant ship he has stowed away upon. Maybe merchants are more lenient with their discipline.

Eventually all that is in his ears is the sound of the waves, and all that is in his nose is the salt-smell of the sea. He takes his chance, and stretches, his cramped legs twinging with pain. He shakes the limbs loose: if he is to be a cabin boy he will need to be supple and monkey-like.

He climbs awkwardly over the side, and is spotted at once. Horror hits him like a thunderbolt: the sailors are dressed in ragged breeches and shirts, wearing bandanas and cutlasses. One launches across the slippy deck and seizes his arm, and he can smell the reek of strong alcohol.

Pirates.

The pirate who has hold of him calls out in a rough voice, "Cap'n! I caught a rat!" Other voices laugh, but the boy hardly notices. All his attention is focused on the commanding man in a coat who swaggers towards him. His tricorne hat covers a red bandana; beneath this lies one of the most handsome faces the boy has ever seen.

"What the hell are you doing here?" His accent is almost Cockney. The boy flinches at the stench of his breath, completely unaware that he is in a similar state. What can he say? He wants to be a cabin boy, not a swabbie.

"Answer me," the Captain growls.

Eventually, he plucks up courage and stammers, "Nothing, sir." He can't stop staring at the Captain's eyes, for they are lined with kohl. He had thought this was a ladies' substance, although he dares not question the pirate.

For some reason, his voice amuses the pirates greatly. He fights not to vomit as the wall of stinking breath hits him from the crew gathered around him. He feels very small suddenly.

" 'Nothing sir', " mimics the Captain. "We've got ourselves a eunuch, lads!" This produces more waves of laughter, although the boy cannot think why. He risks a glance to the sides, and on his right, leaning on the rail, is a dark-skinned woman. He stares at her, willing her to catch his eyes and save him, but she stares resolutely past him. She must be a slave, he reasons, either that or a deaf-mute.

He realises both these thoughts are false as she speaks, "So what are you going to do with him?" The Captain looks at her with something that's almost respect, but not quite.

The Captain turns back to him. "I suppose you wanted to be our swabbie, 'ay?"

"Yes sir."

More laughter from the pirates, although not as much. It suddenly occurs to him that it is his child's voice that has made them laugh so much.

"Well," the pirate brings his face right up close to his, and he can see the glitter of his gold teeth. "We already have a swabbie. You picked the wrong ship, mate. Know what we do with stowaways?"

The boy can hardly breathe with fear. "The plank..."

"No, you pillock. We just throw you. Like so."

It happened so fast. The Captain jerked away and gestured. Two pirates grabbed him under the arms and heaved him bodily in the direction of the rail. He barely managed to clear the wood, cracking his ankles on the beam, before dropping. His fall was broken by the ship's curvature, and he smashed against the side and slid down into the cold water.

Captain Jack Sparrow leaned on the rail awhile, peering down, but there was no sign of the stowaway. He shrugged and turned back to the helm of his beloved Pearl.

Anamaria took his position as the ship moved away from the spot. Ripples still spread from where the boy's skinny body had hit the water.

It always disturbed her where something like this happened, but she had learned to keep her feelings inside. It was hard enough to be taken seriously anyway, and she'd only managed that by killing a stowaway herself.

Still, it disturbed her when one as young as that had to go. She felt a flicker of resentment towards her Captain, but shook it off.

_What did I expect,_ she thought.

_He's a pirate._


End file.
